Disclaimer: This still isn't mine.

A/n: Another one for Jaz, who gave me two suggestions. I decided to do both. This one is a request for something with Lynette and Paige in season seven, and it turned out rather short but sweet. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you again for all of the kind feedback.

A Collection

By Ryeloza

Three: Late Night

It was a Wednesday when exhaustion finally got the better of Lynette. As soon as her head touched her pillow that night, she fell into the soundest sleep she'd had since the baby was born, an instant, gratifying slumber that was inevitably interrupted by Paige's crying a few hours later. She stirred reluctantly, roused by the sound though her brain felt cloudy and her eyes barely managed to open, and for just a moment, she pressed her face into her pillow and tried to block out the sound. Tom had wandered into her personal space during the night, and his arm was haphazardly slung around her waist, his head resting on her back like she was a pillow. As usual, he seemed immune to Paige's wailing. Annoyed, she rolled over, purposely waking him up.

"What'sgoingon?" he mumbled in an incomprehensible rush while she rubbed her eyes, trying to find the energy to get out of bed. Taking advantage of her sluggishness, he rolled over again and slung his arm back over her. "Go back to sleep."

"Baby's crying."

"Yeah."

Lynette rolled her eyes, squirming out from beneath his grip and slipping out of bed. Despite the dark, despite the fact that she still hadn't managed to open her eyes, she padded down the hall with the effortless familiarity of someone who had spent twenty odd years treading this path. It was funny how quickly the routine of having a newborn had come back to her; the patterns and movements and habits that she'd thought she'd forgotten long ago had come back to her like second nature. Like now, creeping into the nursery, only half-awake, scooping up her baby and settling into the rocking chair ready to feed her in less than a minute. "There we go," she muttered, leaning back and shutting her eyes while Paige quieted down.

Between her five children, Lynette had had a countless number of these sleepless nights, awake when the rest of the world was asleep, just her and her babies. Nights of pacing the floor, incessantly rocking Preston back to sleep; a terrifying bout of the croup with Porter, when she'd spent nearly the whole night in the bathroom with the shower running so the steam could clear his lungs; singing to Parker because it seemed to be the only thing that would lull him; dozing off with Penny in her arms. They had been some of the most tiring, terrible, never-ending nights of her life, and yet when she looked back on them, she remembered them with something akin to fondness.

Of course, in the middle of the night, it was hard to look at it that way, and she was positive that it would be years before she thought back on these nights with any kind of warm feeling.

Lynette yawned, absently patting Paige's bottom, and monotonously rocking back and forth. The action was as comforting to her as it was to the baby, and she was enormously grateful that Tom hadn't let her get rid of this chair when she'd wanted to. She'd regarded his hesitation to get rid of their baby stuff first with the fear that despite his reassurances otherwise, he wanted another child, and then later with a slightly incredulous affection for his nostalgia. As little as she wanted to admit it, having this chair again now, sparked a wistfulness that she was honestly happy to have. She'd never said so to Tom, but she had the impression that he knew exactly how she felt.

Life really was strange. Just a year ago, the thought of becoming a mother again had been the most terrifying idea in the world. She'd been overwhelmed by the idea that couldn't handle it again—that she didn't want to; trembling with the knowledge that her entire life was going to change. At the time, it had felt so starkly similar and absolutely different than her other pregnancies that she'd never been so unsure of anything in her life, and she still wondered if the ensuing heartbreaks had been some kind of punishment for her ambivalence. Losing Patrick, nearly losing Paige—it felt like fate had stepped in to destroy her. Yet here she was, holding her beautiful, healthy baby girl, and for every moment that she still felt tired and lost and beleaguered, there was that wonderful, underlying knowledge that she was supposed to have this little girl in her arms.

The door creaked open and Lynette opened one eye to see Tom shuffling into the room looking as tired as she felt. It was an unexpected, if welcome, appearance, but she barely managed a smile before her eyes drifted shut again. Slowly, he crouched down next to her, resting a hand on her knee and yawning.

"She done feeding yet?"

Lynette nodded, though she'd barely noticed that Paige had contented herself minutes ago. Unthinkingly, she shifted the baby up to her shoulder and patted her back.

"I made a promise to myself tonight that I'd get up with her for you."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Not too well." Tom leaned down and kissed her knee. "But I'm here now. Why don't you go back to bed?"

Lynette smiled, shutting her eyes again and resuming her gentle rocking. "That's okay," she sighed contentedly. "We're fine here."

It was every thought and hope she had expressed in the simplest way, but Lynette knew that it was enough for Tom to understand: that somehow, as tired as she was, the late night suddenly didn't seem quite so bad.